


Selcouth

by Dearest_Solitude



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Weapons, alcoholic, rare words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-10-05 02:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearest_Solitude/pseuds/Dearest_Solitude
Summary: Adjective. Strange, unusual, rare; unfamiliar, yet marvelous, wondrous.A series of scenes inspired by rare but marvelous words.





	1. Selcouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selcouth  
> Adjective  
> Strange, unusual, rare; unfamiliar, yet marvelous, wondrous.

He sat in the kitchen, watching her through the grimy glass of the back door. In his hand: a mug of strong, steaming coffee, which he had spiked with something he was fairly sure was rum. He leaned back, hands resting upon the cool counter top on which he sat, as he stared out through the grimy window on the backdoor.

The sun wasn’t quite risen yet, and the large cement wall encasing the yard kept it dark. In the shade a beautiful girl lugged a large tin tub across the dead, frozen grass with both hands. She had to stop every few seconds to adjust her grip. He didn’t know where she found it, where she was taking it, or why. Really, he didn’t care.

She’d leave the drink on the stove, over the lowest flame, and head into the dining room to clean up last nights mess. She’d wash and dishes and cutlery before turning off the stove all together and head outside, upstairs, to the basement to scavenge or read or whatever it was she did with the rest of her time. 

She’d leave the drink on the stove, over a lowest flame, and head into the dining room, to clean up last nights mess. She’d wash and dishes and cutlery, before turning off the stove all together and heading outside, upstairs, too the basement to scavenge or read or whatever it was she did with the rest of her time.

She always finished before he was awake. He saw her so rarely, her, his little mouse, that as he watched a strange feeling crested over him in the same way the suns rays were just now peeking over the wall outside.

It was the feeling that he didn’t know her at all.

Slipping from his perch, he stumbled over to the door, eyes wide. Hot coffee splashed from his mug, soaking into his shirt. It went unnoticed.

What a beautiful creature. What elegant perfection. God’s magnum opus. Yet he didn’t recognize her, couldn’t comprehend her, a dark despairing feeling, to be sure. Like isolation. She might as well have been an alien and the door in between them the great expanse of space instead.

Then the feeling passed. She was herself again, gangly and cursing and cold as she dragged the large tub incrementally across the yard. He flinched, suddenly aware of the coffee which was burning him through he shirt.

“Ow ow ow!” Whining, he quickly setting down the mug on the counter to yank off his shirt. When he turned back, large blue eyes stared back at him through the glass. They blinked, slowly, and he grinned in return, still shaken from whatever it was that had just come over him. She rolled her eyes, and redoubled her efforts to get her junk to wherever it was she was taking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rules:  
> -Cannot exceed 500 words  
> -Cannot use the chosen word within the story  
> -Has to relate to the chosen word  
> -Time limit of 60 minutes
> 
> *Please feel free to suggest words*


	2. Basorexia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basorexia  
> Noun  
> An overwhelming desire to kiss.

It was an odd sort of feeling, to have their cycle flipped on its head. It was strange, to wake up tied in the back of a car. It was strange to be without his henchman, to have no marvelous, daring escape.

When he came to he was groggy. His head ached and he was parched. Where he was, he didn’t know, but the steady rumble of the engine assured him that he wasn’t where he last remembered being.

“Drink,” he croaked. Ouch.

“Oh God, he’s awake!” The person next to him jumped and the car swerved slightly.

“Should she stop the car?” A boy’s voice. Worried.

“Buh buh gluabs.” Baby talk? It was coming from in front of him.

“No. No...I— it’s fine. He’s tied up. Just keep driving.” That came from next to him. What a sweet voice.

Blinking furiously, he groaned as the bright sun from outside burned his eyes. Sure enough though, he was in the car. He was sitting in the back seat, tied up with some kind of metal cable. The knot behind him poked against his spine uncomfortable.

Violet Baudelaire, who was regarding him was a fearful but determined expression, scooted back. In her hand was a machine that looked like a cross between a gun and a needle. It reminded him a little of what he had used to kill Montgomery.

Her hands were shaking.

“Well, well, well. How the turns have tabled. If it isn’t the Baudelaires.”

“It’s ‘How the tables—Never mind. You shut up. Don’t try anything or Violet will knock you out again.”

Olaf narrowed his eyes at Klaus. The boy was turned around in his seat to look at them. Then Olaf’s brows furrowed. If the nerd boy was sitting in the passenger seat, and the beautiful Baudelaire was next to him, then who…

“Goo blerg.”

Holy shit.

For the first time since he awoke, real, genuine panic bloomed in Olaf’s chest. Wriggling wildly, he regarded Violet with wide eyes.

“You’re not—do not tell me—that baby isn’t driving this car is she? Let me out! Let me out right now, or I swear I will make you regret this—”

“Stop talking! Our sister is a better driver than you are!” The pretty one leveled her strange weapon at his chest, and poked him with it. “I _can_ knock you out again, if I have to.”

She was staring at him with such determination, with her shaking hands and her pouty lip. So...fragile. So tender. So breakable.

Olaf was not really a kisser. While all his past girlfriends, and one night stands, and benefactors had been very interested in it, it was not really something he had ever understood. There were certainly places that were pleasurable to kiss yes, especially was it was a woman and they were kissing those places on him. But normally he was more interested in... getting into it, as it was.

Watching this terrified girl in the seat next to him though, he couldn’t help but lick his lips. For her, he could be a kisser. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything else. Her face, her hands, that soft, pale skin, and slight red of her cheeks, he wanted to cover all of it in mushy, sloppy kisses and he wanted to do it as soon as possible.

“What? W-what are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?” She glanced nervously at her brother.

Olaf swallowed and leaned closer to her, ignoring the sharp pinch of something piercing his pectoral muscle. Desire burned up his neck. He wanted to feel her lips, to mark her skin, to taste her tongue.

The baby in the front seat was forgot, and he leaned down, his face next to hers. “Miss Baudelaire, have you ever kissed anyone before?” And before she could answer his lips were on hers, and they were just as nice as he had imagined they would be. Then his eyes fluttered and the Count slipped back into unconsciousness, slumping over the shocked girl’s lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only scene two and I already broke a rule. This is 112 words over budget. :/
> 
> *Please feel free to suggest words*


	3. Obsequious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obsequious  
> Adjective  
> Marked by or exhibiting a fawning attentiveness

One night, he’d told her. If she could play the part of a proper wife for one night, he’d give her the letters. Maybe, if she played it well enough, he’d let her write one too.

Olaf lounged casually at the head of the table, surveying his guests. The pretty little bride had yet to arrive, and he wondered bemusedly if she’d given up before the game had even begun. It didn’t matter to him—it was just as well she didn’t get all mopey over those letters, anyways.

“Hey Boss, where’s the orphan?”

“I thought you said we’d see her today.”

“We want to see your wife!”

Olaf’s mouth opened as he prepared to give some grand lie as to why Violet Baudelaire could not make their humble dinner, but then the door swung open and he suddenly found he couldn’t say much of anything at all.

The dress she’d chosen was a [lovely satin thing](https://dearest-solitude.tumblr.com/post/185209628693/in-obsequious-vs-dress-looks-something-like). The thin little straps tied behind her neck, curving down into a neckline that plunged down to her waist, where the skirt flared out, ending just above mid thigh. Paired with a pair of tall, black stilettos, she looked stunning.

Everyone else seemed to think so too, for they all fell speechless. Violet smoothed her skirt nervously, and then smiled.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Making desert took a little longer than I expected.”

Olaf, swallowing his surprise, rose to his feet, and raised his glass to her in greeting. “My countess! Apology accepted. Come, sit!” The chatter resumed, most of it, Olaf noted, about his lovely little wife.

She crossed the room with a grade he hadn’t realized she possessed. Every man at the table watched her move, hoping with each step her hips might sway enough, her skirt might bounce enough, to reveal what was underneath. Olaf knew because he was hoping the same thing. It didn’t happen though, and in a moment she was standing by his side, about five inches taller than she usually was.

Now that she was beside him, he could see even more details of her outfit. She’d curled her hair and used a deep mauve ribbon to tie it back instead of the ratty grey one that she usually did. She’d also put on a necklace, a delicate “V” on a golden chain. He’d bought it for her, ages ago. He’d never seen her wear it before.

“My dear, I must apologize,” He said, smiling sickly-sweet. Violet stiffened almost imperceptibly was he placed his hand against the bare skin of her back.  “I hadn’t realized you’d be joining us after all, and, regrettably, all the seats are taken.” He gestured around the table helplessly, then took his own seat. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to share a seat with me.”

If Violet was surprised, she certainly did not show it. Instead, she smiled. “Of course,” she agreed, and turned and sat down on his lap before he could say another word. “You look very handsome in that jacket. I don’t think I’ve seen you wear it before.”

What was going on? Olaf had expected this dinner to be a fun night of him—the handsome, hilarious hijinxer— teasing her—the naive, nubile nymph—but instead she was taking everything in stride! If she was able to keep this up for the rest of the night, he’d lose the bet, and there was nothing Count Olaf hated more than losing.

“You!” He shouted, pointing at the twin ladies. “Go bring in dinner from the kitchen.”

They did. It was lamb chops, spinach, and mashed potatoes. Violet had made it. From the smell alone, he knew that her cooking skills were most certainly improving.

“Ahh, Violet, I hurt my hand while working the other day, so—”

She twisted in her seat, catching his hand in hers, and examining it worriedly. “Are you alright? How did you hurt it?” She glanced up at him through her thick lashes, and he swore her eyes were twinkling. “Shall I kiss it better?”

Olaf felt his cheeks flush, and growled in rage. Him! _Blushing!_ Unheard of!

Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I don’t want to strain it any further, so tonight you’ll have to feed me.” He expected her to balk at this, or, even better, run from the room, humiliated and in tears, but instead she simply scooped up a bit of dinner on a fork, and held it up to him.

“Anything for my dearest husband,” she said with wide, innocent eyes.

‘I bet she’s quite proud of herself and her silly acting skills,’ he thought to himself as she fed him. The food was really quite good, and her acting skills were too, if he was being completely honest. She’d been holding out on him.

“I’m surprised to see you two getting along so well,” Hooky admitted, watching them with a strange look in his eyes. “I didn’t think you… liked each other very much.”

Anger flared up in him, but Violet laughed, pressing a hand against his chest. “Smart, talented, handsome. What’s not to like?”

Hooky grumbled something to himself, but Olaf was to busy squinting at his wife. This was not nearly as fun as he had thought. He ought to be mad at her for tricking him like this. How was he supposed to know she was actually a conniving vixen? But now there was this strange tightness in his chest, and he couldn’t quite find it in himself to care.

Luckily, he had one last card up his sleeve. “Violet, I think you’ve entertained our guests enough, my dear. It’s getting rather late. Why don’t you head back upstairs now?”

With a nod, she slipped off of him, holding the arm of the chair while she balanced herself. God, her legs looked so long and delectable. Before she could march off on them, though, Olaf slid a hand around her waist. “A kiss goodnight before you go?”

I’ve got her now, he smiled triumphantly. I’ll win this silly game and she’ll never see those stupid letters.

Too busy with his preemptive celebration of his resounding success, he didn’t even notice that she’d leaned down until her lips pressed against his, her hands brushing against the rough stubble on his cheek. He couldn’t processed it, couldn’t think, not until she was already flouncing out the door.

With an infuriating little curtsy, she winked at him.

“Good night, husband dearest!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like twice as long as it is supposed to be. I feel like I didn't capture the word super well with this one, but it was still fun to write.
> 
> The word "Obsequious" was requested by rebeccawritesporn727


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